Favors
by dstroyersoffspring
Summary: "I need a favor." It was just past midnight and had it not been for the full moon and plethora of stars in the sky, it would have been pitch black outside. "It's late. What kinda favor you need?" (Or, the one where Jesus gets hurt but it's okay bc Daryl knows how to take care of it. Based off a prompt that I can't find the source of now, so if you recognize it, please let me know.)


4/17/17 – 12:47 P.M.

Favors

"I need a favor." It was just past midnight and had it not been for the full moon and plethora of stars in the sky, it would have been pitch black outside. Daryl propped the screen door open wider to peer out at his incoming guest. He already had a party going inside – the party consisting of Carl and Enid and an assortment of board games they had been slowly working through for the past couple of hours.

"It's late. What kinda favor you need?" The words weren't directed at him in anger, nor were they a dismissal, so Jesus took it as a sign that he was clear to come up onto the porch. In the meager light spilling out from the open doorway, Daryl could see that the trench coat clad man was rather bloody and definitely injured, if the way he was holding his right arm was anything to go by.

"I'm not going to lie to you, it involves a body part." The way Jesus said it made it sound like a joke, but Daryl could see the pain in the other man's face every time he shifted. The hunter shook his head slightly but moved aside to usher Jesus in.

"How'd you break it?" The question was almost covered by the overly loud and unanimous hello Jesus received from Carl and Enid upon entering the house. Once he had greeted the teens in return, the scout turned to face Daryl again.

"It's not broken – at least, I hope nothing's broken, anyways – but my shoulder is dislocated for sure." Before Daryl could ask, Carl beat him to it.

"What'd you do?"

Jesus cracked another wry smile that didn't quite meet his eyes and began to slowly ease his trench coat down his bad arm.

"Ah, long story short, I fell out of a tree because the branch I stepped down on snapped," the long leather coat was dropped to the ground, revealing the torn and bloodied sleeve of Jesus' white button up that he was wearing beneath the zip-up vest he was currently trying to strip off.

Daryl stepped closer to the injured man and motioned for him to spin, removing the vest himself to make it easier on Jesus before tapping his forearm where it had been hastily bandaged.

"Needs to be changed. Happen when you fell outta the tree?" The scout shook his head, working the bandage off of the still sluggishly bleeding wound as he made his way toward the table in the connected dining room.

"Dog bite. The feral pack of mutts was the reason I was in the tree; their barking drew some walkers though and I made my rather…ungraceful getaway while they all tore each other apart." From the living room, Enid's voice rang out in excitement.

"You saw dogs?"

"Yeah, but they weren't exactly friendly. Trust me, I found out the hard way," Jesus held his injured arm up as high as he could get it for the girl to see the bruised and torn flesh, and at the sight of it, she immediately turned back to the board game she was still playing with Carl.

"Why are you guys here anyway? Is Rick out on a run?" The question was aimed toward the two teens on the floor, but it was answered by Daryl, who had reappeared just as silently as he had disappeared. In his hands, he held some wash rags, a roll of fresh bandages, and a half empty bottle of peroxide.

"Nah, Rick just got back a little while ago."

"Which means him and Michonne are gonna be busy for a while still." Carl busted out laughing as Enid swatted his arm, mumbling something along the lines of, "Don't be gross," as Jesus shook his head and sat himself down on the table.

"Why didn't you go back to Hilltop? Thought y'all had a doc there." Daryl was setting the supplies down on the table next to Jesus, staring at the gruesome dog bite as he spoke.

"It's late, and I was closer to here then I was to Hilltop. And I didn't – don't – have the patience to deal with Gregory in this state." The hunter nodded his head at the scout's statement, grabbing Jesus' injured arm and pouring a healthy dose of the peroxide over the wound without warning.

Jesus hissed a breath out between his teeth at the stinging liquid, and after letting it work for a few moments, Daryl swiped a dry washrag over the bite to mop up the excess blood and peroxide. "Hold that there," he murmured to the injured man on the table as he turned to grab the first roll of bandages. When Daryl turned back to the task at hand, Jesus was staring at him with a small lopsided smile, and the teens were looking at him, amused as well. The hunter instantly bristled.

"What?" He grunted irritably as he began to wrap the bandages over the wound, making sure it wasn't overly tight, but still secure enough to stop the flow of blood.

"Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired, but I dare say you make a good impromptu doctor, Daryl." Jesus' smile widened as Enid and Carl tried to muffle their laughter from the other room. Daryl scowled, tying the bandage off and taking the bloodied rag from the scout as he tried to fight the heat creeping up the back of his neck.

"Yeah, well, we'll just see how much ya' like me after this next part, huh." And before Jesus had time to properly take in that statement, Daryl had already begun the process of resetting his shoulder. The hunter grabbed the wrist of his uninjured arm, guiding it up to rest on the bad shoulder. Ghosting his fingers down Jesus' other arm, gently lifting it the entire way until it was straight out, Daryl mimicked what he wanted him to do with his own arm.

"Make a fist. Palm down, like you're gonna drop somethin'." As Jesus followed the quiet command, the pain flared through his arm all the way up into his shoulder and left a burning path in its wake, making his muscles spasm. He grimaced, gritting his teeth and clenching his fist tighter than before.

"Now reach your arm out and push your shoulder blade in with your fingers." After watching Daryl perform the action himself, and after a moment's hesitation, Jesus attempted to do as he was instructed. As soon as he applied pressure on his shoulder blade however, another wave of sharp, burning pain and spasms wracked the injured man. Shaking his head, he dropped his arms and sighed in frustration.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to do it myself, Daryl. Is there another-" Jesus cut himself off; the hunter had grabbed his hand again, placing it back on his bad shoulder like before. Unlike last time though, Daryl left his own hand over the other's.

"I'mna help. Count of three, alright?" To his credit, Daryl waited until Jesus nodded at him before straightening the man's arm back out fully, beginning to move it outward to where he needed it to be. The entire time, the scout tried to keep the grimace of pain off his features, but ended up turning his face away from the hunter so he wouldn't see it instead. Daryl sighed, starting the countdown before he actually began to push back on the other's arm.

"Three…two…" Jesus never heard him say 'one'. As tendons and muscles were stretched in ways they were never meant to be pulled, his shoulder grated its way back into place, and it drew a quiet gasp from Jesus before his vision faded into grey.

Daryl caught the scout as he slumped forward, cursing silently under his breath as he began to lower Jesus down flat on the table. Before he had even settled the man fully though, Jesus had already started to snap out of it.

"Paul, you good?"

Raising his uninjured arm to rub at his eyes, Jesus groaned quietly before responding, "You were right, I don't like you very much right now."

"Told ya. Don't try to sit up, it'll just hurt."

"I'm pretty sure it's hurting regardless, but it does feel slightly better now. Thank you, Daryl." The hunter hummed out his acknowledgement as he gathered the rest of the supplies up, taking them back to the bathroom down the hall. When he returned, despite his instructions, Jesus was already sitting back up on the edge of the table slowly stretching and rotating his sore shoulder.

Daryl watched with an unnerving little flutter of anxiety as the scout eased his vest back on and gathered his coat, draping it over his good arm as he made for the door.

"You fixin' to leave?" The muttered inquiry was enough to halt the other's progress; Jesus turned back to face the hunter, a question of his own dying on his lips as Daryl spoke up again. "'Cause I'm thinkin' you shouldn't, as long as you don't have to. Rest up here tonight, head out again in the morning when it's light. Safer that way."

The scout's initial reply was swallowed by Carl and Enid excitedly agreeing and inviting him to sit for a new game, effectively making his mind up for him. As he tossed his coat onto the couch and lowered himself down to sit next to the teens, Jesus glanced back at Daryl and nodded his thanks to the man once again.

After a few more hours and two and a half games of some strange version of Monopoly that Jesus couldn't wrap his head around, the impromptu party gave way to lack of sleep. Enid said her goodbyes as she headed back to where she was staying with Olivia, and not long after that, Carl ended up passing out on the couch. Daryl only noticed once Jesus began quietly chuckling to himself, drawing attention to the scene.

"He sleeps just like his dad. I find it funny."

"Watchin' people sleep makes you a creep, y'know." The words weren't meant to be insulting, nor were they received as such, but before the scout could respond to the teasing jab, Daryl was already moving to gather the sleeping teen in his arms. "Your turn to do me a favor, by the way."

As the hunter made his way into the hall, Jesus went after him, following the man's quiet instructions to open the guest bedroom door and pull the comforter on the bed down. After doing so, the scout retreated back to the doorway, observing the scene as it unfolded. Daryl steadied himself with one knee on the mattress as he gently lowered Carl down out of his hold. As soon as the teen was released however, he began to stir, slurring Daryl's name through sleep laden and addled lips.

"It's all good, kid. Just puttin' you to bed proper," the hunter murmured the reassurance as he pulled the blankets back up to cover Carl's sleeping form. Returning to Jesus' side just as the man was suppressing a yawn of his own, Daryl carefully pulled the door shut before speaking up again.

"I can getcha somethin' clean to wear to bed, if you want."

"Yeah, I…" Jesus trailed off momentarily, glancing down at his torn and bloodied shirt, his cargo pants covered in dirt and dust. "I think I'd appreciate that, thanks."

The hunter motioned for Jesus to follow after him, going to the only other bedroom in the hall; the one he had claimed as his own. As Daryl rifled through his drawers pulling out a set of bed clothes, the scout again waited quietly, sore and exhausted.

"You can change in here, just leave your dirty stuff out in the hall and it'll be washed in the morning. You can sleep in here tonight, too. Bed's a whole lot better than that couch is and the sheets are clean…" Daryl trailed off, sparing a look back at the bed as he handed the garments over to the other man. With a grunt, he added, "Clean enough, anyway."

It took Jesus just a bit longer than it should have to process the man's statement, but once he had he immediately began to object, halting Daryl on his way out.

"Daryl, no, I'm already imposing on you as is. I don't want you to feel like you have to give your bed up for me too. The couch will be fine, honestly."

"You're right, the couch will be fine, and that's why I'm taking it. Your shoulder will appreciate that bed a helluva lot more in the morning, trust me."

After a few seconds of Daryl silently challenging the scout to protest the arrangement further, Jesus finally gave up and gave in to the yawn he had been trying to suppress.

"Thank you, then. For everything tonight, really. I owe you one."

Something fleeting and unidentifiable passed over the hunter's face as he stared down at the carpet, considering his words for a moment. Then, with a slight shake of his head, he muttered,

"Nah, that's wrong. You've saved my ass twice now, you don't owe me a damn thing. As far's debt's concerned, I'm the one who owes you a few favors." And with that, before Jesus could even formulate a response or attempt to argue, Daryl stepped out of the room and let the door click shut quietly after himself.

In the morning, the scout's own clothes were indeed washed as well as mended, sitting in a neatly folded stack right outside the bedroom door. After he had fixed the bedspread and redressed, he left the borrowed clothes folded on the foot of the bed and crept his way out of the house. As he passed through the living room, Jesus paused to take in the scene that was Daryl sleeping. The hunter was sprawled out with one leg hanging off the couch, still – booted foot on the floor. His arm was thrown over his eyes to block the light and judging by the snoring, he was all but dead to the world.

With that image in his mind and a small smile gracing his features, Jesus exited the house and made his way back to the front gates of Alexandria. On his way the scout passed by Carol, and as soon as she saw him, she called out and momentarily stopped him in his tracks.

"I'm glad to see your coat turned out alright, it would've been a shame if it was beyond fixing." When she got to Jesus' side, Carol reached out and tugged on the leather sleeve that had been torn through by the dog's teeth, pulling it closer to inspect the fresh stitching there.

"Yeah, I'm glad it was salvageable, too. It might seem like a silly thing to be attached to in this day and age, but color me sentimental," the scout shrugged his own words off, wincing slightly as it pulled muscles that were still sore from yesterday's mishaps. "While we're on the topic though, do you happen to know who fixed it up, and who washed my clothes? I'd like to thank them before I leave, if possible."

Carol laughed quietly, almost to herself as she shook her head and rolled her eyes good naturedly.

"What, Daryl didn't tell you? He nearly pulled an all nighter doing it himself, said he 'didn't trust anyone else to be able to stitch up leather like he could,'." She completed the statement with air quotes, still smiling as she turned and walked away. Dumbfounded, Jesus was left just standing there, trailing a finger gently across what he now knew to be Daryl's handiwork and wondering how he was going to repay the man for everything he had done.


End file.
